Falling For the Librarian – by Sorcha Mowbray
FALLING FOR THE LIbrARIAN
BY SORCHA MOWbrAY
Mrs. Bridget Pennyworth bit back a low groan of dismay even as she smiled at the bearded man, who looked as though he'd rolled out of bed before visiting her dry goods store.
Well, truly it was her husband's, but he died two years prior, leaving J.G.
Pennyworth's in her hands. That also meant that he left her to fend off the marriage proposals that came with every purchase by a man.
Some days, she swore they came into the store just to propose to her.
How many pairs of long johns could one man use?
“Thank you for your business, Mr. Brown, but I am afraid my answer is the same as it was the last time you asked me to marry you. I am simply not interested in marrying again.” She waited a moment to allow her words to sink in, hoping that she had been kind enough in her delivery.
“Now, should I send these things over to your rooms at the boarding house?”
“Yes, ma'am. That would be much appreciated. And if ever you change your mind about marriage, please let me know.” The man offered her a slight smile, but his sad eyes spoke loudly of his disappointment.
Bridget ignored his disappointment, as well as his last words. “They will be delivered this afternoon. Thank you again for your business.”
The man nodded and sauntered out of the store, leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief.
A year ago, as soon as she was out of mourning, the proposals began.
It had started out slow and tentative at first, but around six months ago, it became more …
aggressive. The men were having a harder and harder time taking no for an answer.
As small as Los Angeles was—relative to say, San Francisco— and as few women as there were, she wasn't in the least surprised.
Pushing the pesky proposal problem aside, she turned away from the counter and noticed the corner of a book sitting under a remnant on the back counter.
Her stomach dropped straight to her still trim ankles.
Oh no! She reached over and plucked the book out from under the fabric.
She held it up and finally let loose the groan she'd held back earlier.
“What's wrong, Mrs. Pennyworth?” Mary Sullivan, the shop girl she'd hired to help her with the store after her husband's passing, looked concerned as she set a stack of linens on the front counter.
She walked around the counters that were arranged in a horseshoe shape along the outer edges of the store until she came to the break, where she could walk into the central area for customers.
“I forgot to return the book I borrowed from the library again.” Bridget sighed and flipped the front cover open to look at the borrowing card tucked inside. “It was due last week.”
Mary walked over to the linens and picked them back up so she could transfer them to the display table. “Can't you just explain what happened? You are a busy woman.”
“No. There is a devil in charge of the Los Angeles Public Library.” A very handsome devil. “And he has already warned me about my late returns. Multiple times, I am afraid.” A pit took root in her stomach as she imagined coming face to face with the man.
Mr. Sheffield was stern on a good day.
Mary turned from the display and smiled. “I can run the book over for you, if you'd like.”
“Oh, that would be?—”
The bell on the shop door tinkled as a man walked in. Bridget sucked in a breath and clutched the book to her chest as she took a large step backwards. To her great mortification, she looked at Mary and shook her head. “No need, I'll go now if you can see to Mr. Morton?”
Mary's eyes widened as she glanced to where the very rotund man was riffling through the shirts that had been neatly stacked, and then back at Bridget. She looked at Mary, pleading silently and hoping the girl would deal with the bombastic man and let her escape.
“Hello? Mrs. Pennyworth?” The man was unable to see her where she stood, tucked behind a very tall stack of blankets.
Mary sighed and her shoulders slumped as she nodded. Then, pasting on a bright smile, she turned to face the man. “Good morning, Mr. Morton. Mrs. Pennyworth is out running a few errands. May I be of assistance to you?”
Bridget wasted no time in turning and slipping into the back of the shop.
She would much rather face the devil himself than attempt to fend off yet another proposal from the very insistent Mr. Morton.
Of all of her would-be-suitors, he was the most aggressive.
Last time he came into the store, he cornered her against the very shirts he was looking through.
If another customer hadn’t walked in, she didn’t know what would have happened next.
Because Mary was quite young, the man seemed to have more scruples about harassing her.
She shuddered and then collected her coat and exited through the back door.
She looped around to Main Street and headed toward Temple and Downy Block, where the library currently resided.
It took her ten minutes to walk there with all the traffic on the road and the sidewalks.
Bridget could remember when Los Angeles was a sleepy hamlet of a few thousand people.
It was nearly three times larger now, and the traffic that came with that growth was growing more and more annoying. Even the sidewalks were often crowded.
Clutching her book, she strode down the street, her navy-blue linen skirts snapped around her ankles as her small bustle swayed gently with the movement.
She finally reached the building that housed the public library and, after taking a deep breath, stepped inside.
The interior walls were lined with shelves of books.
The center of the space was effectively divided in half.
On one side stood a series of freestanding shelves.
On the other was the card catalogue and a circulation desk.
That was where she spotted the devil she'd come to face in lieu of Mr. Morton.
Mr. Sheffield sat at a desk tucked behind a counter.
He appeared to be reviewing a log of some type—probably the log of fines to be collected.
Oh God. She closed her eyes, took another breath and opened them before stepping toward the circulation desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Sheffield. I need to return a book.” She stood there still clutching said book tightly to her chest.
The librarian rose from his seated position to his full height, and she would swear he was nearly six feet tall.
But then, most men appeared taller than her own five feet six inches.
He stared at her as he stepped over, his dark brown eyes seeming to drill straight through the cover of the book as though he could already see it was late.
He stopped and adjusted his spectacles before he rested his hands on the counter.
Her hands tightened on the book and her breath hitched in her chest. Were her stays too tight? She hadn't thought so this morning, but suddenly, breathing seemed challenging.
“Mrs. Pennyworth, I will need to see the book.” His low tones rumbled through her, causing her to start.
Her face warmed. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She fumbled the book slightly as she set it down. Then she jerked her hands back, clasping them together at her waist. “I, um … well, it's …” She sucked in a breath and let it out.
“It's late.” He looked at her, his face set in stern lines that only accentuated his carved jaw. “Again.”
She dropped her eyes, unable to look at him. “Yes, sir.” How did this man make her feel like a recalcitrant girl? She was a widow! She ran her own business, for heaven's sake.
His commanding voice cut through her thoughts with a stern, uncompromising tone. “Why is it that you seem unable to return the books you borrow in a timely fashion, Mrs. Pennyworth?”
She pressed her thighs together in an attempt to stem the pressure that built there at a most inappropriate time.
“Because I am busy running a thriving business, Mr. Sheffield.” She attempted to look him in the eye as boldly as she could, but found her gaze dropping far sooner than she would have liked. Damn it.
“I see.” She looked up to see the disapproval in his voice mirrored on his face.
“And when may I expect you to pay the fines levied for your persistent tardiness?” One brown brow drifted up toward his hairline, drawing attention to his lush head of hair that he clearly took care to groom more often than once a month.
She likely shouldn't have noticed, but it was hard not to compare the fastidious man with every other man who paraded through her business.
Many of whom had not seen a bar of soap and a tub of water in six months.
The stream of prospectors, ranch hands, and other assorted men looking to eke out a living in the wild west—well, in Los Angeles—was legion.
Flustered by his directness, she reached for her purse. “Damn and blast!” Oh God, had she said that out loud? She truly wanted to melt into the floor at that moment.
“Mrs. Pennyworth, if you continue to use such language, I will have to bar you from these premises.” The librarian glared at her. “Or worse.”
It was the or worse that grabbed her attention.
What might he do to her? No! No, she needed to focus on the task and issue at hand.
She'd obviously been thinking about the handsome taskmaster from the library far too often.
Perhaps she should cease borrowing books just so she had a reason to visit him—the place.
She swallowed down the overabundance of saliva that threatened to choke her.
“My apologies, Mr. Sheffield.” She glossed right over his threat and her wandering thoughts.
“I seem to have left the store without my purse this morning. I will have to return to pay my debt later.” She chuckled nervously as she tried to smile at the man.
He was not amused.